Bridges Uncrossed
by Alinah
Summary: There are bridges that should not be crossed idly. Estel, unhappy with the feeling that secrets are being kept from him, makes a choice that could alter the fate of Middle Earth forever.


Hi everyone!

No, I have not vanished from the face of the earth... I just found out that RL can really, really get in your way and that recovering from an illness can take so much longer than you would think. Now I´m finally back to writing - this is the first story in more than half a year. It was written for the Teitho challenge with the theme "If I Could Turn Back Time" and I´m happy to say it won :-)

For those of you reading my story "Light My Path" - I´m working on it, but I have decided not to start posting again before the whole story is finished. That way there will be no further delays once I´ve started again. I promise you the story WILL be finished, just bear with me.

But now on to this little tale. Feel free to review, every comment is appreciated.

Alina

Rating: PG 13

Timeline: TA 2948 – Aragorn is 15 in this tale. This is AU, Gilraen died along with Arathorn. I also took some further liberties concerning the death of Aragorn´s parents.

Disclaimer: Nope, I own nothing at all

**Bridges Uncrossed**

The wind played through the leaves far above Aragorn´s head, dislodging the drops left there by a furious rain storm.

´_Even the trees are crying at my incompetence_.´

The thought came unbidden and then drifted away in the stream of despair that engulfed the kneeling man.

Mud soaked through the fabric of his leggings where his knees dug into the soft ground, yet he barely felt the cold that crept through his bones. Behind him, guttural voices unsettled the silence. Heavy footsteps hurried closer.

Below these harbingers of dread there was another sound, far more subtle and still keenly registered by the man´s mind. A whimper only, but one that could mean the world to Middle Earth. Or the end of it.

Aragorn glanced down at his left fist, saw raw fingers tighten across the hilt of his sword. Black blood mingled with his own on the resting blade. More would be added before this was over, before oblivion would finally erase the weight of failure that crushed his mind and heart.

"Let them come", he whispered, defiance seeping into his tone, and he tightly smiled at his own stubbornness. The enemy drew near behind him. He could sense them stopping in the small clearing, obviously distraught by his stance.

He rose to his feet, eyes still firmly trained upon the tree before him. A sharp bolt of pain shot through his shoulder but he ignored it as his attention was captured by a wavering image. For a breathless heartbeat he thought to glimpse something behind the massive trunk – not an endless darkness but the home he once knew, elegantly arched roofs gleaming in the light of the setting sun.

Yet he had no right anymore to claim this vision as his own, and it faded even before he finally turned around to face his foes one last time.

X-X-X

The wind played through the leaves far above Estel´s head, yet instead of the soothing whisper he would usually hear within the sound, today it held nothing but mocking scorn.

_´Even the trees are laughing at me´,_ he thought bitterly. But then again, who could blame them? They were in good and numerous company if they considered him a fool.

The young man looked past the massive trunk at the sweeping buildings that lay beyond. For as long as he could remember the elegant refuge had been everything to him – home and haven, shelter and symbol for love and understanding.

No longer so.

If had ever been.

He was such a fool.

"Estel, what are you seeking on the ground?" a voice interrupted his contemplation. "Are you attempting to melt into the earth and thus escape my scrutiny?"

Turning around, the young man found himself gazing up at a slightly bent figure who leaned heavily upon the staff he clutched in both hands. His grey beard swayed in the breeze, and to every casual observer he seemed like nothing but a weary wanderer.

Estel, however, knew better. Nor was there anything casual about him.

"Why are you looking for me, Gandalf?" he asked, making no move to rise. "Do you not have anything better to do than playing hide and seek?"

The wizard drew his eyebrows together in a frown, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "Such a game would be fruitless with a wizard", he replied, "for he never seeks. He only finds."

Estel turned away from him, still sitting with his long legs folded upon the ground. "You could have fooled me", he replied. "I saw you following my false track only a short time ago."

There was a rustling of garments and Estel could hardly mask his surprise when Gandalf lowered himself onto the floor by his side, letting out a content sigh as if he had settled into a cushioned chair.

"The quick judgement of youth", the wizard sighed. "Tell me, how do you know I did not find something entirely different towards the south of Rivendell? As I intended to?"

"You, amongst others, have always insisted I trust my instinct", the young man replied dryly, "and that instinct says there is nothing to find at the end of my false track but a small glade."

"And a very pretty one at that", Gandalf agreed with a smile, "perfect for those who intend to find some peace of mind."

They were silent for a long time then, watching the sun dip lower towards the curved roofs of Imladris.

"Tell me", Gandalf finally spoke up, "what instinct lead you to disturb Lord Elrond´s private desk?"

The young man did not look at the wizard, his eyes stoically locked on the peaceful sight before him. His grey eyes, however, were stormy and the stubborn set of his jaw spoke of his determination.

"I knew he would not return for a long while", Estel finally explained. "His conversations with you tend to lead long into the night. Little did I know this time would be different."

"Ah, yes. Not always does the lord of Imladris forget something of such importance that he needs to retrieve it." Gandalf drew his staff across his knees to sit more comfortably. There was no malice in his tone. "Your talents of observation are keen, yet you misjudged the element of surprise. It is there always, and those who ignore it will pay dearly." He allowed his words to sink in before continuing. "But even so, my presence only gave you the opportunity to do what was decided, I am sure, long before."

"They all know!" The accusation erupted from Estel with fire, the setting sun coloring his eyes as he finally faced Gandalf. "Everybody does – Lord Elrond, his sons, you and everyone else. Everyone but me!"

"We all know things that you do not", the wizard said mildly, "and yet I am sure that you have knowledge that escapes the rest of us ."

"Stop shrouding your answers in riddles!" The young man had jumped to his feet and paced vigorously, his movements jerky from anger. "You know very well of what I speak. There is something about my past that is being kept from me."

He glared down at Gandalf who had remained seated, his hands drawing absent-minded patterns across his staff. "I deserve to know what concerns me! I am no longer a child!"

"That you are not." Estel found his gaze captured by Gandalf´s intense stare but he did not falter. Eventually, the wizard looked away to once more take in the view of Imladris.

"There are bridges, Estel, that can only be crossed in one direction. One should consider carefully before setting a foot on one of them. The other side lies in fog, and once it is reached, there is no turning back."

The young man opened his mouth for an impatient rebuke but was once again faced with the wizard´s keen eyes. This time the strength he met there made him drop his gaze at once and he thought for a moment. "You mean knowledge", he offered, " for once something is known it cannot be unlearned."

"Aye." A slight smile played upon the wizard´s lips. "That is one of the bridges. Do you not believe that Lord Elrond kept you from it for a very good reason?"

"A reason that was never given to me." The fire of anger, momentarily subdued, began to throw sparks once more. "Had I been brought to live with other humans I would be considered a man already, destined to make his own decisions. None would dare shroud my past from me! Yet I live amongst those who will forever see me as a child to be sheltered. No one asks whether I still seek protection."

"Then it is not enough for you that some of the wisest beings in Middle Earth thought this secret was worth keeping?"

The gentle question raised color to Estel´s cheeks, but his gaze did not waver. It remained hurt, demanding - strong.

Gandalf rose slowly.

"Very well then." He stepped closer to the young man. "Estel The Young to the Elves, Estel The Man to humans, if you so decide I will let you cross the bridge of knowledge. You will know what you might have found had Lord Elrond not returned early to take you from his study. You need only touch."

A strong yet wrinkled hand was extended and Estel was momentarily taken aback. He looked at Gandalf, trying to find humor in the wizard´s eyes. There was none. Just a true offer wreathed by sadness.

"You truly allow me to decide?" Estel found his hand faltering on its way to accept the offer.

"If anyone should be given the freedom of choice, it is you. Use it wisely."

Pushing past the insecurity that suddenly threatened to settle in his heart, Estel quickly grabbed Gandalf´s hand in a strong grasp.

X-X-X

The wind played through the leaves of a tree sheltering a small campground, and Estel found himself slowly floating amongst the rustling greens. Raindrops gently drummed the wooden branches and onto the sole tent that was placed beneath the tree. On their path down they passed right through Estel with the slightest brush against his being. He was there and yet he was not. He could feel himself and yet there was nothing to feel.

Even so, his concentration was solely trained upon the small gathering of humans that moved about beneath him, oblivious to his presence.

Men they were, roughly clothed and with voices equally harsh, and still there was a warmth to them that spoke of the trust and friendship that bound them.

Estel strained to hear what they were speaking of, but he could not discern the words that washed past him like the gentle gurgling of a river. He willed himself closer to them, seeking out their sharp features. Their eyes seemed to hold wisdom beyond their visible years. Grey and stormy were all the eyes he encountered, and a sudden rush of understanding flooded through him.

He had heard of them before, the Dúnedain, men of the North and now scattered despite their proud heritage. His heart leapt when he felt the truth rising from his soul. He was one of them, grey-eyed and long-limbed.

_´That is the secret,´_ his heart rejoiced. _´I do not fear this truth!´_

He felt himself drifting upwards again, away from the scene, but then a gentle force held him back and a voice spoke in his ear. "The bridge is not yet half crossed, Estel." A warm grasp was suddenly felt upon his hand. "Do you wish to return? There is still time."

Before Estel could even consider this offer a new sound reached his ears. It was so different that it immediately held his full attention, making both Gandalf´s hand and his words dissolve into nothingness.

A woman was singing. Her words were as hard to discern as those of the men, but Estel could feel the soothing Elvish tilt to them. Like soft tendrils the sounds curled around him and drew him closer, down towards the ground and into the tent.

There, sheltered from the pelting rain, a woman rocked a small child in her arms. Her stance was tired, as if she had little strength to spare, but her face was aglow with feeling. She lay back against a man, one arm loosely around her waist as he slept seated behind her. His free hand lay at the hilt of his sword that was on the ground beside him.

The warmth that flooded Estel seemed like a rising tide that swept long-dormant memories to the surface. Scattered impressions assaulted him - the smell of wet horses and leather, the gentle caress of a callous finger on his cheek – and this voice, singing him to sleep.

He drifted closer, suddenly desperate to shed his spectral form and feel what the couple had to offer. He watched the woman´s hand where it graced the child´s arm, her fingers tracing gentle patterns as she sang. He watched, mesmerised, his vision blurring. He closed his eyes, her voice growing closer, and then, suddenly, he felt himself held.

He heard her sing to him.

He felt her fingers on his skin.

He felt tears in his eyes.

"Aragorn, Aragorn…" The first words that came to him clear as a new morning. "Do not cry, love. Sleep now, sleep."

He wished to open his eyes, to look upon his mother and father, but the heavy eyelids refused to obey him as the gentle rocking continued.

Estel was Aragorn and Aragorn was content to drift off to sleep, sheltered as he had never been.

And even so, a new memory tugged at his awareness. A memory that was filled with noise and confusion…

"Orcs!" The yell cut through the sound of the rain.

A jerk went through the soft body holding Estel, and screams were heard, unearthly and full of rage. An almost gentle buzzing filled the air, and the screams grew closer, more human.

Eyes flying open, Estel was dismayed to find his vision blocked against the softness of his mother´s chest.

"How many?" she called and felt her bend to pick something up.

"Too many", was the answer, breathed in utter shock. Yet when the male voice spoke again, nothing but determination remained.

"Take him, Gilraen!" A rough hand that held the love of the world passed over his head. "Take our son to safety."

Warmth engulfed him as his parents drew each other close, soft endearments that did not need words passing between them.

And then the warmth was gone, safety forgotten as he was jostled through a world of cold water and harsh screams.

"Berio haryon!" /Protect the heir/ The call was taken up by many voices as it travelled around them and still he felt Gilraen running, her hand in his back. "Berio haryon!" Even in the midst of battle these men were keen to shroud the meaning of their calls from the orcs by using the Sindarin tongue.

Estel was shifted higher on his mother´s shoulder and his eyes took in the battlefield. Arrows crossed the air like deadly birds in pursuit of their prey. The dark bulks of orcs poured at them from all sides. Blades that they raised against them were either falling aside deflected or finding other bodies suddenly thrown into their path.

And still Gilraen ran, calling out something Estel could not understand. Dimly, he could see the shape of a man drawing the fighting Dúnedain towards him and uttering orders before all was lost amongst dark trees.

Still, the crunching of trampled branches remained at their sides, glimpses of malformed bodies flickering between the trunks.

"You shall be safe." The hushed voice of his mother drew Estel from the horrors before him. "You shall be safe, my son."

Suddenly a large shape broke from the darkness towards their right, and Estel smelled the odour of wet horse. He found himself dragged from his mother´s warmth, small fingers ineffectively trying to lock into her hair to keep her close as he was tucked into something hard, reeking of leather.

"No, love, you shall not fall with me." He eyes were strong as they rested upon him. "You shall rise and free this Middle Earth. You shall be safe, my Aragorn."

Dark figures drew close behind her back and Estel could see her muscles tense, a sword slowly rising in her right hand. "You shall be safe."

And then he was gone, the horse bolting, its movement blurring everything around him, the sound of the hooves drumming on the ground drowning all but the angry battle-cry of a mother protecting her only child.

The horse ran on even as it, too, began to fade, until Estel was floating again. There was no forest, no rain, no air to breathe – just a sad voice in his ear.

"The bridge is crossed, Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

X-X-X

The wind played through the leaves far above Aragorn´s head. He could feel no more mocking in their whispers, just sadness.

Slowly, Aragorn raised his head. In front of his kneeling form Gandalf sat, his back to him, smoke rising from his pipe.

Beyond the wizard, Imladris lay bathed in moonlight. It had never looked more beautiful. It had never been farther away.

"Estel." Gandalf spoke in a low voice, as if afraid to disturb the night around them. "Was the bridge worth crossing?"

There was a silence that stretched as the stars slowly moved across the skies.

"Do not call me that." Such a young voice, so tired.

"Lord Elrond failed in naming me. Iant should be my name, for I weight heavily on those around me." He sighed deeply.

Gandalf did not answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was thoughtful. "You accuse Lord Elrond of many mistakes tonight, my young friend. Yoke would have been your choice of name? You confuse fate with the man who carries it." Keen eyes turned to the crestfallen human.

"But it was my fault my parents were killed!" Some of the old fire was back in the grey eyes, even though the flames were cold, lined with the ice of guilt and fear. "Had it not been for me, the rangers could have concentrated on their fight!"

"_Berio haryon!"/Protect the heir/_

"Had it not been for me, my mother would have stood a chance!"

"_You shall not fall with me."_

"Had it not been for me, my father would have thought of his wife and men first – and of his own life!"

"_Take our son to safety!"_

Gandalf had now turned towards the young man, his face stern. "Not even the wisest can tell where the forks in the road of time may lead. Tell me, Aragorn, can you?"

"I have a pretty good idea!" He had risen to his feet, his fists clenching at his sides, his jaw working with tension. "I know about the line of kings, Gandalf! How many hours have I listened to Lord Elrond and his tales of Isildur, whose blood was too weak to bear responsibility. How many times has he stressed to me the importance of a strong heir to one day redeem these sins."

He swirled and faced Gandalf. "How could he have called me "Hope" and thus expected me to face this task? How could he have thought…"

The forceful voice trailed off, a look of sudden, despaired understanding crossing the youthful features. "He did not, did he? That was why I was not supposed to know."

Sitting down heavily Aragorn dropped his head into his hands.

Gandalf remained silent.

"He would have told me by now had he thought me worthy." His voice taking an almost dreamy quality he continued. "I apologize, Gandalf. The wise have made a good choice in deciding I should remain oblivious and hidden away. Better that than facing the failure I would be. Who would follow my command? How would I even begin to battle darkness? It takes a better man…"

Aragorn trailed off yet again, and when he lifted his head there was fresh determination in his eyes.

"Gandalf, would you help me cross one more bridge?"

"So you have figured out another one?" the wizard asked mildly, for all the world sounding liked a teacher pleased with his student´s bright reasoning.

"Time", Aragorn answered fiercely. "Once it has passed, there is no turning it back."

"Indeed." Gandalf watched the young man intently. "Why would you want to cross that bridge, Aragorn? What do you expect to see when the fog clears on the other side?"

"There is no fog this time. On the other side of that bridge there is a man who would stand a chance against darkness. A man who can command. It is he that is needed here, not me."

Once more Gandalf remained quiet, his eyes searching Aragorn´s face. Finally, he nodded and extended his hand.

"Very well, heir of Isildur´s weakness and son of Gilraen The Brave and Arathorn The Strong. The choice is yours yet again. Use it wisely."

This time, Aragorn did not hesitate to grasp the hand offered to him. As the sight of Imladris´ tranquillity melted before his eyes, he felt both the sting of loss and the overwhelming sureness that this was what he deserved.

X-X-X

The wind rustled through the leaves far above Aragorn´s head as he ran through the rain-swept forest. He had no memory of getting here. He did not recall when his feet had begun their frantic rhythm, nor when he had learned what direction to take. All he knew was the urgency in his heart.

He could not fail, would not fail.

Aragorn sensed more than saw the horde of orcs amongst the trees, a small distance away. Neither did he acknowledge their presence nor did they seem to notice his.

_I am a spirit_, he thought dazedly, _not even visible. Existing not to be but to fulfil a purpose.´_

Swift as a deer he overtook the dark creatures and soon the sounds of human voices reached his ears. He recognised the harsh yet energetic tone and when he strained, he thought he could even catch the gentlest impression of a woman´s song – as fragile as the memory of a butterfly´s wing.

"Orcs", he yelled, not even yet in the rangers´ camp, "orcs!" Above him there was movement in the trees but he never stopped to look at the human sentinels that would no doubt be there. They were worth nothing. They had failed before.

"Orcs!" he shouted again. His heart suddenly clenched, unsure whether he was even seen or heard in this time that had only known him as a small child.

When he stumbled into the small clearing, however, this fear was taken from him by several swords that were pointed at his chest.

A gruff-looking man stepped towards him, eyes narrowed. "Who are you, boy, and how do you know of our presence here?"

Aragorn panted from his frantic run and his thoughts were in turmoil. He had never expected to need an explanation – he was here to warn the rangers. Warn his parents!

His eyes sought out the tent that was partially hidden behind the group of warriors, and they shifted to fully block his view in an act of unconscious protectiveness.

"Answer me now", the ranger who had talked before repeated, "or face the consequences."

Aragorn never had the chance to follow the order. From the trees a wordless shout of warning rang out and then the air turned to a swirling maze of streaking shadows. For the briefest moment the young man felt strangely comforted by the gentle sounds of the shadows, reminded of sunny afternoons spent with laughing elves, but then a sharp pain laced through his right shoulder and knocked him to the ground.

As if from far away he heard angry shouts and then unearthly screeches of fury. "Down, the archers are down! Swords now, swords!"

A strong pair of hands grabbed him and dragged him to his feet. Shaking the blur from his vision, Aragorn looked into steady grey eyes that bore into him with intensity. "Your words were true then, boy. You get a chance to fight for your life." A sword was pushed into his left hand even as dark creatures poured into the clearing from all around them.

Suddenly alone, Aragorn reacted on nothing but instinct when an orc appeared by his side as if out of thin air. Seeing the vicious blow coming, he brought up his sword up with his left hand and intercepted it just in time. The momentum of the strike, however, was too strong for his weaker arm to slow completely, and he stumbled backwards when the orc pressed on with a sneer on its face.

Aragorn struggled for balance, his sword trembling in his hand while the blade was pushed towards his throat. He locked eyes with the orc again and saw the almost amused gleam there.

From somewhere behind them, a shout arose among the rangers. "Berio haryon!" /Protect the heir/

Both Aragorn and the orc instinctively glanced into the direction of the sound, but while the dark creature looked puzzled, the human felt a fresh surge of strength bolt hotly through his veins. He was here for a purpose!

With a grunt he put all his weight behind the sword and pushed, dislodging the orc long enough for its weapon to slip downwards at the sudden loss of purchase. The creature never had the chance to correct its mistake before it was impaled, its black blood seeping down Aragorn´s blade.

The young man let out a shout of victory but it was short-lived. His weapon was so deeply lodged in the carcass that it was pulled down when the body fell. Aragorn stumbled once again, cursing as he yanked at his sword. Sensing a presence behind him, he yanked harder, and just as the blade finally came free with a sickening, wet sound, steel met steel directly above his bowed head.

Aragorn ducked, keeping his footing only by using the sword as a crutch, and then straightened to find another orc dead – its head several paces from its body. "Aim for the heads, boy, don´t get your weapon stuck in murky bellies." A ranger stood beside him, nodding a curt greeting at him before glancing towards the trees with a sudden flash of longing concern in his grey eyes.

Eyes Aragorn knew,

Eyes that had looked upon him before with love and worry.

Dumbfounded, the young man could do nothing but stare while his heart beat wildly in his chest.

Arathorn turned to him once more and his gaze narrowed before he reached out and gave the younger man a rough shove into the direction of the trees.

"Go with her! Help protect my wife!"

And then he was gone, sword jumping into action once more before the battle swallowed him whole.

Aragorn found himself running again, his mind reeling. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly now, the black arrow embedded there bobbing as he moved, but the pain was nothing compared to the one that ate his heart. This was wrong. How could this have gone so wrong? He felt death all around him despite the early warning he had brought.

The icy rain drove into his eyes, blurring his vision further as he ran after the sleek, long-haired figure he could just make out among the trees before him. He thought he could see a small head peeking above one shoulder, but their eyes never locked in the flurry of their flight.

Aragorn was vaguely aware of knocking aside several orcs, of receiving scrapes and dealing out blows. Of rangers aiding him and falling at his side.

And then there was nothing but the forest and the fleeing vision of the woman before him.

Gilraen.

His mother…

One foot suddenly got caught in a root and Aragorn felt himself losing his balance. Even during the fall he could already see orcs swarming towards him, drawn by his apparent helplessness. He lashed out blindly, felt his blade connect and struck again, now on his back.. And again, on one knee, trying to rise.

Then his sword found nothing but thin air. The blade wetly struck the muddy ground when he looked around, dismayed to find that Gilraen had stopped not far away from him.

"No!" he yelled, "run, oh Valar, please run!"

She did, disappearing from sight within a heartbeat.

Aragorn was on his feet and running again, a cold wave of dread his constant companion. Mud splashed up his legs as he forced his shivering body onwards. Once more the foul voices of orcs could be heard, but it was another sound that chilled his heart. The screech of a beast - the pained wail of a horse.

Stumbling on, the young man finally found himself facing the ultimate scene of his failure. His heart stopped and refused to resume its rhythm, frozen as it was in horror.

Before him, Gilraen stood facing several orcs. Barely seen amongst the trees was the thrashing bulk of a horse, weapons sticking from its belly like the decorations on a grotesque roast. Cutting through the growling of the orcs was the whimpering of a baby.

Gilraen´s face was a mask of determination, but her eyes widened slightly when they locked onto Aragorn. She gripped her sword with both hands, her stance clearly speaking of her confidence with the weapon. Locking her eyes upon her vile foes, she nevertheless spoke to Aragorn.

"Berion ion-nîn" /Protect my son, she said fiercely, "im úner, e ilya."/I am nothing, he is everything./ One more time her eyes rose to meet him. "I iôr-nîn." /It is my wish./

Aragorn´s heart skipped a beat and then resumed its work as if following his mother´s command. How could he ignore the only wish he would ever hear from her lips?

He never knew how he reached the small, squealing bundle on the ground. He never knew how he managed to avert his eyes from the frantic battle between his mother and their predators. He never knew how he raised the courage to leave Gilraen behind, running yet again.

His heart, however, was vibrating with the words she called as she fought. "Guino, ion-nîn! Guino!" /Live, my son! Live/

Strengthened by the will to fulfil her plea he ran until his legs gave out, then rose and ran, ran, ran until he could run no more.

Falling to his knees beneath a tree, Aragorn felt bile rise in his throat and he retched until his body calmed, holding the child to his racing heart. He could not look at the boy, so he placed him upon the wet ground just as he heard unmistakable sounds behind him.

The sounds of his failure completed.

The wind played through the leaves far above Aragorn´s head, dislodging the drops left there by a furious rain storm.

_´Even the trees are crying at my incompetence.´_

The thought came unbidden and then drifted away in the stream of despair that engulfed the kneeling man.

Mud soaked through the fabric of his leggings where his knees dug into the soft ground, yet he barely felt the cold that crept through his bones. Behind him, guttural voices unsettled the silence. Heavy footsteps hurried closer.

Below these harbingers of dread there was another sound, far more subtle and still keenly registered by the man´s mind. A whimper only, but one that could mean the world to Middle Earth. Or the end of it.

Aragorn glanced down at his left fist, saw raw fingers tighten across the hilt of his sword. Black blood mingled with his own on the resting blade. More would be added before this was over, before oblivion would finally erase the weight of failure that crushed his mind and heart.

"Let them come", he whispered, defiance seeping into his tone, and he tightly smiled at his own stubbornness. The enemy drew near behind him. He could sense them stopping in the small clearing, obviously distraught by his stance.

He rose to his feet, eyes still firmly trained upon the tree before him. A sharp bolt of pain shot through his shoulder but he ignored it as his attention was captured by a wavering image. For a breathless heartbeat he thought to glimpse something behind the massive trunk – not an endless darkness but the home he once knew, elegantly arched roofs gleaming in the light of the setting sun.

Yet he had no right anymore to claim this vision as his own, and it faded even before he finally turned around to face his foes one last time.

The orcs that approached him were not grinning, taking him by surprise. Rather, they moved with a caution he had seldom seen in such beasts. But then again, he had hardly seen these beast at all before, at least not this close. His elven brothers had made sure of that. His heart suddenly ached for them to be at his side, for his father, for Legolas – but he had chosen this path to be walked alone.

Rather than awaiting their slow attack, Aragorn suddenly charged at them, a scream ripping from his throat. A head flew from his first strike, a belly opened from the second but then they were upon him like a swarm of deadly wasps and he felt his knees buckle, taking him to the ground.

Summoning his last strength he raised his blade in one more effort to defend himself, his eyes screwed shut in expectation of the vicious blows.

Blows that never came.

Cautiously, Aragorn´s eyes opened.

He found himself surrounded by what looked like a sickly arrangement of statues. The orcs seemed to be frozen in mid-strike, their features contorted by rage and effort. Tiny drops of spittle hang in the air before their mouths.

"Ah, there you are!"

The young man turned at the sound of the voice he knew so well, almost slicing his throat against a blade that had been caught just short of connecting with it.

"Careful there, you would not want to hurt yourself further now, would you?"

Gingerly sitting down, Aragorn stared out from among the orcs´ legs to watch Gandalf stride into the small clearing. He did not seem to be in any haste as he passed between still orcs, bending his pointed hat with one hand as he ducked beneath their raised weapons. His long grey coat dragged through both mud and blood, but he either did not mind or failed to notice.

"Ghastly creatures, these", he said, his nose crunched in almost absent-minded disgust. He had now reached the cluster of death that surrounded Aragorn and glanced down at him. When the young human failed to move, he sighed and lowered himself to the ground also, separated from him only by dark, leather-clad legs.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn finally gasped, finding his voice again.

"That is my name", the wizard agreed, looking about himself idly. He stretched out one hand to touch a single drop of blood that hung in the air beside several of its brothers, glistening red in the still, murky light.

"A funny thing, time is", Gandalf said, "for it gives and takes, it heals and kills. Once cut loose, you never know what it will do. As unpredictable as a drunk gambler, if you ask me."

"I failed", Aragorn suddenly blurted, surprised to find the words come out as a sob, "I tried to make things right and I only worsened them."

It did not seem like Gandalf had heard him at all. "But then again, time is also valuable. It is up to us to choose what role it should play in our lives. It can be gambler or guardian, healer or friend."

He snapped his suddenly keen eyes towards Aragorn. "If you do not mind me saying so, child, you chose a poor role for your time."

The young man only stared at him, trying to pry his mind from the experiences he had just suffered through and truly hear what his old friend was saying. When he felt that his thoughts had at least slightly caught up, he asked: "What role did I choose?"

Gandalf made a sweeping gesture at the horrid scene around them. "Is that not plain, Estel? You made time a punisher, worse than any living creature could have been." His voice grew gentle and he reached through the orcs´ legs to place a hand on Aragorn´s arm.

"You failed to see that time should be a teacher to you. One better even than Lord Elrond or myself. How could you expect yourself to commit deeds that would have taken so much experience? So much training? So much time watching good leaders lead and good fighters fight?" The wizard sighed. "The haste of youth is strong in you, Estel. It lead you here."

"No", the young man answered, "it was my choice that lead me here."

"A choice based on hasty reasoning", Gandalf chided softly. "Even though I have to say, you achieved so much more than your experience should have allowed. Who would have thought that you could hold yourself that well in battle?"

Aragorn shook his head in dismay. "It was not good enough."

Gandalf released his arm and nudged him, making him raise his head. "I doubt anyone would be good enough to change the stream of time, Estel. Fate is a strong force that will not tolerate being tempered with. But if you allow time to teach you, you will be good enough one day. Not to bring your parents back to life, but to continue their heritage in peace."

Still miserable, Estel shook his head. "I hear your words, Gandalf, but I cannot follow them. You said so yourself – I crossed not one but two bridges that are no longer there. They cannot be un-crossed."

To his surprise, the wizard chuckled. "Ah, Estel! Use that smart head of yours." There was a twinkle in his eye. "Fate is such a wide stream – do you truly believe there are but two bridges that cross it?"

Aragorn looked back at Gandalf, a tiny flame of hope in his heart. But at the same time, he felt so tired that he could barely think. "I am sure there are others, but I cannot see them."

"Then let me help you. The bridge you are looking for, my friend, is the one called forgiveness."

Estel looked up sharply. "You would forgive me my foolishness?" he asked eagerly, but Gandalf was already shaking his head.

"There is nothing for me to forgive, Estel. Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for doubting your elven family. Forgive yourself for losing faith in your own strength."

The wizard held out a hand. "Have hope, Estel, and forgive yourself."

As the young man took the offered hand, Gandalf´s voice suddenly deepened. It enclosed him like a warming blanket.

"It is time, Estel, to un-cross some bridges."

X-X-X

The wind played through the leaves far above Estel´s head, and he could have sworn that there was a chuckle to them as he awakened, gazing into the moving sea of green. Time had passed since he had run from Elrond, for the sun was already low in the skies.

"Estel, what are you seeking on the ground?" A wrinkled face beneath a pointed head bent across the young man. "Are you attempting to melt into the earth and thus escape my scrutiny?"

Estel sat up with a weary sigh. "No, Gandalf, but I would gladly escape my father´s wrath." Struggling to his feet, he glanced down at the inviting sight that Imladris always displayed and suddenly felt his heart ache with the beauty of it – as if he had just returned from a long journey and was once again overwhelmed by the miracle that was his home.

"Ah, fear not." Gandalf took the young man´s arm and hooked his own through it as if he needed his strength. "I can assure you that your brothers have done worse in their time. And quite honestly, I fear they have something planned for tonight."

He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I have a feeling that they intend to celebrate, if that is the correct term, my visit with one of their famous pranks. You would not happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Estel fell in step beside his friend, giving him a glance that shone with innocence. "I would never allow a great wizard to walk into a trap", he assured Gandalf and then could not suppress a laugh that betrayed otherwise.

Being so intenton gettinghis mirth under control, the young man missed the look of utter fondness that crossed the wizard´s wizened features. He also missed the look of relief.

_The end_


End file.
